


L'Esprit de l'Escalier

by raphae11e



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 05:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10915248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raphae11e/pseuds/raphae11e
Summary: Literally "the wit of the stairs," l'esprit de l'escalier refers to when one thinks of the perfect reply too late.





	L'Esprit de l'Escalier

**Author's Note:**

> Who knew I would be writing porn about Disney characters in this year of 2017. Not me, that's for sure. But here we are, so enjoy!!!! Translations for the French are at the end.

War, Lefou quickly decided, was not as glorious as it had been made out to be. 

Perhaps he’d been a fool-- how fitting-- to think that he'd take to the bloodshed and carnage. He certainly wasn't like Gaston in that respect, who seemed, in a grim and determined sort of way, to look forward to their battles. Then again, this difference really shouldn't have been surprising. Gaston had always held a sort of restrained violence inside him. He was  _ aggressively  _ masculine. And Lefou was… well. He was  _ Lefou.  _

He was himself, meaning he was the exact opposite of Gaston, and of what Gaston wanted. Lefou tried not to dwell on that too often. It was painful, and depressing, and the war was already both of those things to an incredible degree. 

Instead he focused on the time he and Gaston got to spend together. The two of them spent their nights in the makeshift barracks, telling stories, passing drinks back and forth. It was almost companionable, and Lefou cherished it. One night, when they were both on lookout duty, they even spent some time staring at the stars overhead. It was, for lack of a better word, surreal _.  _ Situations like that, where Gaston didn't feel the need to show off his bravado and instead acted like a true  _ friend _ , occurred less often than Lefou would have liked. 

Not that Lefou didn't enjoy the bravado, because he absolutely did. Seeing Gaston on the battlefield, teeth bared and bayonet in hand, was a sight. He became strangely wild whenever they fought, all of his focus directing itself to the task at hand: triumph over the enemy. His eyes seemed to light with something feral, both beautiful and terrible at the same time. He would appear at Lefou’s side during a firefight, breathing hard, muscled chest rising and falling under the fabric of his uniform.

“Alright, Lefou?” He would ask, voice deep and rough. Lefou would only manage a mute nod before Gaston would be off again, disappearing back onto the battlefield.

...Yes, perhaps Lefou enjoyed the bravado a little more than he let on.

He wouldn't go so far to say that Gaston enjoyed the carnage, but there was something about it that got the man’s blood pumping. And all that energy had to go  _ some _ where _.  _ More often than not, at night Gaston would travel with some fellow soldiers to a nearby town, seeking out an inn or whorehouse. He would return hours later and climb into bed, clearly exhausted. 

Without fail, Lefou would always awaken to the sound of Gaston’s return. And he would always feel the uncomfortable heat of jealousy towards whatever nameless person shared a bed with Gaston that night. 

This pattern continued for some time, occasionally even days in a row. Lefou didn't speak much of it, though when Gaston brought it up of his own accord he tried to muster the appropriate amount of interest in the subject. Ah yes, please tell me of your latest conquest, Gaston. I want to hear  _ every detail,  _ I  _ insist.  _ It was hard not to seem hopelessly bitter during such conversations.

Then one night, something strange happened: Gaston returned early.

From the way his footsteps fell, Lefou could tell that the man was drunk. So they had gone out drinking, but not for any of their  _ other _ usual activities?

“Lefou, are you awake?” Gaston said lowly. Or  _ tried  _ to, at the very least; he wasn't very good at regulating his volume, even when sober. 

“I am,” Lefou found himself replying. He could have easily said nothing, allowed the silence to speak for him and left Gaston to put himself to bed. He was tired and a bit shaken from the day's confrontation with enemy soldiers, and would have liked very much to sleep for at least three straight days. But he couldn't bring himself to leave Gaston unanswered like that. It felt unkind _.  _

Lefou could practically hear the smile in Gaston’s voice. “Good!” There were a few steps in the direction of Lefou’s bunk, and then suddenly Gaston was visible through the haze of darkness.

He came to stop at the bedside, staring down with an unreadable look on his face. That was a rare occurrence; normally Gaston’s emotions were as easy to recognize as night and day. When Lefou met his eyes they seemed to glow in the darkness, bright blue with their pupils blown wide. He said, “I require something of you.” 

Didn't he always? Lefou sighed, exasperated. “What is it, Gaston,” he replied.

“I--” Gaston cut himself off, his expression becoming almost frustrated. Was he at a loss for words? That was  _ also  _ rare. What was  _ happening _ , Lefou wondered? Everything was so--

All of a sudden, Gaston was falling to his knees and leaning forward, pressing his lips hard against Lefou’s.

Any train of thought Lefou had been following was immediately derailed. His mind was strangely blank as Gaston kissed him, and he wasn't able to think things through until Gaston was already pulling away. He looked  _ crestfallen.  _

“Lefou,” he said, slurring the syllables together, “ _ please _ .”

Oh, Lefou would never even  _ dream  _ of denying a request like that. “Yes,” he gasped, grabbing the front of Gaston's shirt. “Yes.”

The first thing Lefou noticed when they kissed again was that Gaston had  _ definitely  _ visited a brothel that night. In close proximity, the man smelled of sweat and sex, and though his hair was still tied back it was a little disheveled. Normally such thoughts made Lefou jealous, but with Gaston kissing him like this, they had an entirely different effect. He imagined Gaston in a dimly lit room, body pressed against some beautiful woman, sweat pooling at the small of his back as he bucked his hips. Lefou  _ whined,  _ a completely undignified sound. 

But the Gaston of the present took precedence over the Gaston in his fantasies. Their kisses were becoming harsher, rougher; Lefou could practically feel his lips bruising. At some point Gaston had climbed into his bunk and was now looming over him, straddling Lefou’s hips. 

“Your clothes,” he growled, clumsy fingers already working to unbutton Lefou’s nightshirt. Halfway through he got frustrated and simply pushed the fabric up, forcing Lefou to lift his arms and pull it over his head. Immediately Gaston bent forward to press his face against Lefou’s neck, sloppy kisses punctuated by hard, bruising bites.

“Ah!” Gaston, biting his neck.  _ Marking  _ him. Lefou’s head felt stuffed full of cotton, but he did manage to conclude that in order for this to work, they  _ both  _ needed to have their clothes off. He pushed at the broad shoulders above him. “Ahh,  _ attends--” _

His plea was met with another low growl, making a shiver run up his spine. But Gaston complied, sitting back on his haunches to watch as Lefou tugged off his breeches. After their bout of kissing he looked absolutely feral. When Lefou sat up to help him remove his shirt, he practically tore the buttons off in his eagerness to undress.

Then he shifted so that he could pull off his breeches too, and--

“Oh.” Lefou felt himself reddening as his eyes trailed down Gaston’s body, coming to rest just below his trim waist. He still had his smallclothes on, so his cock was trapped against his thigh, leaking precome into the fabric. It was  _ huge _ , of course. Lefou didn’t know why he’d imagined anything different; just looking at it made him lightheaded.

Gaston grinned, clearly pleased with Lefou’s reaction. There were only a few seconds of silence before he was surging forward again, pressing them both back into the mattress. Their teeth clacked together awkwardly as they kissed, but to get his wish after all this time spent pining… it felt so amazing that Lefou couldn’t bring himself to care. Absentmindedly, he reached up to untie the bow holding Gaston’s hair back. Once free, the locks tumbled down over his broad shoulders in dark, shiny waves. Lefou ran a hand through it gently and was rewarded with a pleased hum which he could feel through their kiss.

Before too long Gaston returned to biting at whatever exposed skin he could reach. As he did so he pressed two fingers against Lefou’s swollen lips. They were thick and stretched his jaw awkwardly, making him drool and gag a bit when they brushed against the back of his throat. Tears sprang to his eyes at the feeling, but he blinked them away furiously. 

“Good,” came the praise, more of a pleased moan than a word. The air between them was so  _ hot,  _ with Gaston’s body pressed flush to his. Lefou could feel all of the man’s muscles shifting like this, and when their hips ground together he could feel the hard line of Gaston’s cock through their underwear. 

Lefou groaned, tipping his head back and letting the now slicked fingers slip from his mouth. Words tumbled out of him before he could stop them. “ _ Baise-moi,  _ G-Gaston,  _ s’il te plaît-! _ ” His voice sounded breathless, strangled, hopelessly needy.

At least it got an immediate response; Gaston pressed one final kiss to Lefou’s collarbone before pulling back to allow them to remove their smallclothes. If he was being honest, Lefou felt a bit embarrassed. His own physique looked ridiculous when seen alongside Gaston’s perfectly sculpted body. But Lefou was no stranger to inferiority, so instead of thinking too much about how his soft stomach felt against Gaston’s muscled one, he focused on kissing the man as hard as he could muster. 

He was going to look  _ ridiculous  _ tomorrow, with his swollen lips and bruised neck.

“Turn around,” Gaston instructed as they broke apart, his voice rough with lust. Lefou did so and immediately felt fingers press between his cheeks. Even though they were slicked, they still stung a bit as they slipped inside him, making him wince. Gaston didn’t seem to notice; he was probably too drunk to pay attention to the minor details of their… situation.

When Gaston started scissoring his fingers, slowly curling and uncurling them, Lefou found himself pressing his face into a pillow to muffle his moans. His legs were starting to wobble, with the way he was positioned on his knees. It was hard to remain still, but he was worried that if he rocked back against those fingers he’d come on the spot. That was the  _ last  _ thing he wanted.

Blessedly, the fingers pulled away just as heat had begun to coil in the pit of his stomach. He felt strangely empty without them. That sensation didn't last long, however, because at that moment Gaston’s patience finally seemed to wear thin. With barely any effort he flipped Lefou over, forcing a surprised “ah!” from his lips. Cock in hand-- Lefou could see the way it glistened with slick at the tip-- Gaston bent forward, and in one smooth movement he pushed himself inside.

Lefou’s mouth immediately went slack, his eyes opened wide. It was so  _ much.  _ He felt like he was being split open, Gaston’s cock filling him so completely that it was practically in his throat. After a few tense moments Gaston bottomed out inside him, slim hips flush with the backs of Lefou's thighs, and then the two of them simply sat in silence and  _ trembled. _

“Fuck,” Gaston muttered under his breath, and started to move.

At the first deep thrust Lefou managed to find his voice. Practically whorish moans were being pushed from his lungs, his lips still parted, his eyes now squeezed tightly shut. His insides  _ burned,  _ unused to the stretch. Gaston’s cock was rubbing against every sensitive spot in his body in the most maddening way.

Apparently it felt just as good for Gaston as it did for him. The man was breathing hard, dark hair hanging in his face, muscles tightening as he rolled his hips in smooth, powerful motions. At one particularly hard thrust he moaned, tilting his head back and exposing the thick column of his throat. He looked like a  _ god.  _ Lefou forced himself to keep his eyes open just so he could watch the man come undone.

After not too long he found that warmth pooling between his legs again. Then Gaston suddenly shifted. “ _ Tiens--”  _ Pushing Lefou’s thighs up against his chest, knees hooked over those strong shoulders, he bore down until their bodies were pressed flush against each other. The result was Gaston’s thrusts hitting an even deeper place inside him, so hard that he saw stars.

“A-Ahn-!” Lefou bit down on his bottom lip, trying to muffle his cries. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't very successful. “G-Gaston, I--” His own cock was trapped against his belly, which sent shocks of pleasure up his spine. He felt taught as a bowstring, there was no way he was going to last much longer--

Gaston’s cock slid against something in his body, some hidden part he hadn't even known to exist, and just like that he was coming. His back arched, pressing the two of them even closer together; it made Gaston  _ snarl _ , burying his face in the crook of Lefou’s neck. His movements became even more rough, and they were less precise than before. Through his haze of pleasure Lefou could feel his muscles beginning to protest, his nerves rubbed raw from how hard Gaston was fucking him. He couldn't have cared less.

It didn't take much longer for Gaston to finish. When he did he froze, his body trembling, panting hard as he painted Lefou’s insides with his come. Lefou pressed one shaking hand to Gaston’s back, rubbing along his spine. It was like calming a huge, wild beast. Blinking slowly, he suddenly realized his lashes were wet. When had he started crying?

Ever so slowly, probably more from fatigue than out of kindness, Gaston pulled out of him. His sheets were going to be stained after this, Lefou noted dazedly. Might as well put them to good use: he reached down and grabbed a handful of his blanket, using it to wipe away the come on his skin. Coaxing Gaston closer, he rubbed the fabric over his still heaving chest and stomach. Once he was done, he laid back down and let out a long, shaky breath.  _ Aïe _ .

The bed dipped as, to his surprise, Gaston laid down too, one huge arm slung over Lefou’s chest. He murmured something under his breath, but it was muffled against Lefou’s shoulder and the words were still horribly slurred.

Then Gaston shifted, lips pressed to his bruised neck. “Lefou,” he drawled. He sighed contentedly, and Lefou felt his heart squeeze in his chest.

“ _ Mon chéri _ ,” he replied quietly. As he cradled the nape of Gaston’s neck in his palm, his eyes began to burn again, making him blink hard. He stubbornly refused to let any more tears fall. 

Instead, he allowed his eyelids to flutter shut, and within minutes his exhausted body gave way to sleep. 

When Lefou woke up in the morning, the first thing he thought was that the whole thing had been a dream. It  _ had  _ to have been; there was no way a scenario out of his wildest dreams would have actually come  _ true.  _ He almost laughed at himself, lying there in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Ridiculous.

Then he sat up, and realized several very important facts. He was naked. His clothes were on the floor alongside his bed. And when he leaned forward to pick up his shirt, pain lanced down his spine and settled somewhere between his hips.

Oh God. It really  _ had  _ happened. Lefou felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. This was incredible! He and Gaston, the two of them had finally--

Then he stopped. He thought about how he’d cried, how terms of endearment had tumbled from his lips as they were lying in bed. Most importantly, he thought about how drunk Gaston had been, and how he had woken up alone. As Lefou dressed himself, realizing how thankful he was that his uniform had a high collar, anxiety began to grow in the pit of his stomach. What if Gaston didn’t remember anything? What if he did, but was disappointed? Or, even worse,  _ disgusted? _

There were so many things he should have said, he thought morosely. He should have cradled Gaston’s jaw in his hands, forced the man to look at him and  _ listen.  _ He should have tried to explain how he felt so that maybe, just maybe, if Gaston woke up in the morning and still remembered, then he wouldn’t think ill of Lefou. As things were now, everything was up in the air. It felt like his life had come to a standstill and would remain so until he again came face to face with Gaston.

Lefou laced up his boots and stood. It was still early, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. He was probably needed on the battlements by now. Gaston’s bed was vacant, untouched, meaning that he would be out there somewhere as well. The two of them would cross paths eventually.

With a world weary sigh, Lefou opened the door to their barracks and stepped outside. It was now, or never.

**Author's Note:**

> Attends! - "Wait!"  
> Baise-moi, s'il te plaît - "Fuck me, please"  
> (I had a real hard time deciding which slang for "fuck" I should use. It was a struggle I didn't know I would have lmao)  
> Tiens - "Here," like when you're handing something to someone, or doing something for them.   
> Mon chéri - "My dear" or "My darling," used intimately.   
> Aïe - Just "ah," really. Lefou uses it in the French version of Gaston, and it was too cute for me not to include it ❤
> 
> Finally, I get to put my French to good use. B^) Thanks for reading, hope you liked it!!!


End file.
